take no more.
So it was left to Zondi to get down to brass tacks.
“You’re going to shoot us, too?” he asked.
“Police? Don’t make me laugh!”
But Lenny should have delivered the line with more conviction. Such patent insincerity worked faster than a double dose of fruit salts-Kramer’s blood fizzed and his brain burped. Suddenly he was thinking clearly again.
Of course, the little bastard had had it all worked out from the start. And what hurt now was that he had used some of Kramer’s own logic to perfect his plan; a shot ringing from the yard would have Jackson sprinting for the border, two shots would have him hurdling the Customs post, but three shots all coming together would wrap things up very nicely-the three shots he would fire as Jackson came poking around the kitchen area looking for his missing employee. Why he wanted to kill them, too, was academic at this stage.
And here was the inevitable flaw: Lenny was banking on their co-operation by pretending he meant them no harm.
Zondi must have come to a similar conclusion simultaneously for he inquired: “And if we start to make a noise now? What then?”
The muzzle of the pistol lifted to meet his eyes.
“Let’s not talk about what won’t happen,” Lenny said.
It was not such a flaw after all: a score of two out of three was not bad.
So the only hope now lay in a chance diversion. There was some likelihood of this in the direction of the door leading to the dining hall but not while the sound of a piano accordion continued to come from behind it. Ensign Roberts, squeezing the good life into his errant singers with the application of an anaesthetist using bellows- resuscitation, was indeed a versatile man-further evidence of this stood within reach on the draining-board: an old- fashioned electric toaster with flap-down sides having new elements fitted.
Lenny had noticed the sequence of Kramer’s eye movements.
“Roberts never finishes his sing-song before eight,” he said. “That’s twenty minutes from now and nobody will make a move until then.”
“You think Jackson won’t wait that long?”
“He knows about Roberts’s habits, too. He’ll come before then.”
Kramer shrugged and picked up a screwdriver.
“Watch it,” Lenny warned.
“Christ, I’m not likely to try anything with this! Anyway-”
“Yes?”
“We haven’t any proper evidence on Jackson, so you may be doing us a favour.”
That threw Lenny-and so did the next move.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
“Mending a toaster.”
“Hey?”
“Here, boy, gimme ama-pliers.”
“Yes, my baas.”
Lenny could only watch dumbfounded as Kramer and Zondi slipped whimsically into their old routine of electrician and electrician’s mate, an act perfected in dozens of unsuspecting homes. Within seconds the illusion was complete-right down to the feeling that the black man, obsequiously responding to gruff requests for tools within easy reach, could have done the job much better himself.
“You bastards are mad,” Lenny muttered.
“Ama-screwdrife.”
“Here, my baas.”
“Where’s the ee-element, you stupid kaffir? ”
“By your hand, my baas.”
“Don’t bugger around, how am I supposed to see it there? Hey?”
It had its touches of comedy, too, but Lenny could not be totally distracted from the window. This was a pity because it meant that Jackson had little chance of taking the initiative and saving more than his own life.
“My baas is sure the wire he going by that bottom side?”
“You know a better way of doing it?”
“No, my baas.”
“Then shut your flaming trap and use your brain, if you’ve got one.”
Zondi looked in surprise at Kramer, as if the line was not in the script he knew. Then he scratched his head, thought hard, and grinned sheepishly.
“Hau, sorry, my baas.”
“Okay, cut it out-that’s enough,” Lenny said.
“Bloody hell, we’ve just finished the job,” Kramer protested, closing the side flaps. “Can’t we at least see if the thing works now?”
And he reached casually for the wall switch, flicking it on before Lenny could raise an objection. Nothing happened. Kramer tugged at the plastic knob on the nearside of the toaster and opened the flap slightly to inspect the elements. They remained dull.
Lenny could not help a small smile. It showed his dimples.
“What’s your next trick?” he asked.
A good question-especially as Kramer had quietly turned the tables and was now armed with a weapon more swift and certain than the Walther PPK. And a question of choice: knowing that there would be no escape from the room without killing Lenny, he had to decide whether to do it immediately, while the little bastard was still unsuspecting, or to take a chance on getting a number of things cleared up first. He opted for the latter, although it made the speed of his reactions to any sudden move a critical factor.
That settled, all he had to do was unsettle Lenny and see how much he could learn from him in the time remaining.
So he said: “Aren’t you frightened, son?”
“Me? Why should I be?”
“Because your little plan isn’t going to work, you know. It’s a proper balls-up.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. You should have got us while you could out in the yard.”
“I’ve told you both, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Come on, man! You were just too scared to get in close enough for a knife. You didn’t know how much we were putting on and you’d heard of our judo tricks.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“Admit it. You’re going to blow holes in us straight after Jackson.”
“Crap.”
“Even waited for old Zondi here to come round so there’d be no problems getting him into this room.”
“It was only a minute at most. Anyway, give me one good reason.”
“Simple. The way things are going now we’ll be witnesses to a murder-Jackson’s. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
“True.”
“My point is that your first shot will bring the buggers flying through the door over there. You haven’t a chance of getting away.”
“True also-if you weren’t going with me when I leave. That’s why I waited for the kaffir to stand up.”
“Well, well, hear that, Zondi? Sonny boy here’s been reading the papers, he wants us as hostages. What are his chances?”
“I think bad, boss.”
Lenny began to look very agitated, as well he might. Time was running out and Jackson still had not budged. Granted, there were about ten minutes to go before Our Father broke up the meeting, but now a hint of mutiny was stirring in the corner. His two captives were finding the loopholes in hastily improvised explanations for their continued existence and soon there would be no accounting for their actions. The suggestion he was holding them
